Killer Kitchens (Murders by Design) Read Online Free PDF

designers, fearing they’d be talked into bizarre-looking rooms they didn’t want.
    “Come in,” I urged.
    She stepped inside and slowly approached the desk, her expression changing from uncertainty to shocked surprise. “You’ve been hurt?”
    I nodded. “An accident.”
    “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
    She didn’t mention the explosion. Maybe she hadn’t heard about it, though if she lived in Naples it must be under a rock. “How may I help you?” I asked.
    “I’m hoping you can find someone for me. A man, actually.”
    “Well, I don’t know—”
    “He came into your shop earlier today. I saw him”
    Francesco .
    “His name is Francesco Grandese. Can you tell me how to reach him?” Her lower lip trembled, and she caught it with her teeth.
    I shook my head. “Sorry, a client’s address is privileged information. But the police might be able to help.”
    She shook her head so hard her hair whipped around her cheeks. “No, this isn’t a police matter. It’s personal.”
    She bent over and rested her palms on the desktop, trapping me in place. “Please. This is important. He was staying at the Inn on Fifth. You know, the one across the street.”
    “Yes,” I said, wondering how she’d found out. Had she been stalking him?
    “But when I asked for Mr. Grandese, they told me he’d just checked out. Then I got lucky and saw him leave the hotel in a limo and drive to your shop. That took me by surprise. He’s usually in a Ferrari. But before I could get back with everything...” her voice trailed off, “...he was gone. And I’ve got to see him. It’s urgent.”
    Whatever bothered this girl caused her voice to rise a little higher with every word. Speaking softly to give off calm vibes I didn’t feel, I said, “Why don’t you have a seat, miss, ah...?”
    “Mimi.” She backed off, though I could tell she didn’t want to, and perched on the edge of the zebra settee across from my desk. “So can you help me?”
    “What I can do is take your name and number and let my client know you’re trying to reach him.”
    She half rose then thought better of it and slumped back. “No, that won’t work.”
    The desperation in Mimi’s eyes made me uneasy. I pushed my chair away from the desk and stood. “Then I’m afraid I can’t help you. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
    “Will you be seeing Francesco again?” she asked, ignoring the hint to leave.
    Not wanting to lie, but worried about where this was heading, I gave her a noncommittal, “I may.”
    “That will have to do. Be right back.”
    She sprang off the settee and hurried out of the shop. I was tempted to lock the door behind her but didn’t. That was no way to run a business. Still, I felt so drained, I’d close up early and drop in at the hospital to see Chip while I still had the pep to do so. Before I could snap off the overheads, the Yarmouthport sleigh bells jingled again. Mimi walked in carrying a basket covered with a crocheted shawl and carefully placed it on the shop floor.
    “What’s this?” I asked, pointing to the basket.
    “Something for Francesco. Tell him I’d like to keep it, but I can’t. It’s all his.”
    “Wait a minute,” I said, but she hurried out of the shop, quietly closed the door behind her and ran down the alley.
    Strange. I eyed the basket warily. Was this a joke? Or worse, something that would blow up in my face and destroy the shop and everything in it? I didn’t know whether to dash outside with my cell and call 911, or contact Rossi, or remove the shawl and see what it concealed. As I stood there trying to decide, the basket moved. It moved again. And yet again.
    Frozen in place, as indecisive as ice, I nearly leaped out of my skin when a cry split the air. An unmistakable cry. An I-want-a-bottle cry. An I-want-a-diaper-change cry. An I-want-to-be-held-and-loved-and-cuddled cry.
    I leaned over and snatched the blue shawl off the basket. An outraged baby with big dark eyes and chubby cheeks looked up